


Pretty in Green

by BaredWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean in Panties, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Other, Panties, Panty Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 18:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4575879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaredWolf/pseuds/BaredWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some days, Dean wears a secret under his jeans, against his skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty in Green

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly a work of self indulgence - on my part, and for the sake of Dean really enjoying himself for once. There's minimal to no feminization involved here, just Dean seriously enjoying his kink. Cheers!

Look, it's not like this is a regular thing. 

Normally, he's just...normal. And Sam would probably grumble something about just exactly how aggressively normal he usually is, but Sam isn't here right now, thank you very fucking much. Dean meets his own eyes in the full length mirror on the wall and takes a deep breath. 

Because this really _isn't_ his regular thing. It's more special than that, he thinks, like a present to himself or something when he gets the chance to do it. And just because having his own room means that opportunity presents itself more often doesn't mean it's not still a present. He glances nervously at the locked door to his bedroom, reminding himself that no one else is in the bunker right now: which is precisely why he had chosen today for this. 

He wants to savor it. Because if you asked Dean to list his top five favorite things in the world, well, he'd leave this off the list. But that would be because he's lying. Some things are secrets. 

Dean takes another deep breath, trying to calm the electricity thrumming beneath his skin enough that he can focus. So he can savor this. His eyes look wild in the mirror, an animalistic frantic energy belying the twisting anticipation in his gut, pupils dilated far enough that his vision is a little fuzzy. But it will still work. It's already working. 

He slides his flannel over shirt off of his shoulders, shrugging out of its (regular, everyday) confines. Nothing looks out of place about his appearance. He drops his shirt on the floor at his feet, splaying a hand over the fabric of his tee shirt as he lets his little finger drift beneath the hem, teasing at his skin. He lifts the shirt slightly: nothing unusual. His belt, his stomach. Almost completely normal, except for the way there's a distinct bulge filling out the fly of his jeans as he watches. His breath catches a little at the feeling, his dick sliding against fabric as it fills, but he lets his tee shirt hem drop and drinks in the sight of himself: unassuming, everyday-looking, aside from the flush of heat he can feel traveling under his skin, blood moving and drawing to the surface as he tries to control his breathing. 

He loves dragging this part out, when he's got the luxury of time, slowly dissolving the illusion of his customary self like this. He grabs at the back of his shirt with one hand, letting the shirt muss his hair as he drags it off over his head. His skin prickles at the warm rub of the sliding fabric, tingles in the cool air of the room where it is exposed. He feels lit up, almost high, his whole body singing with anticipatory pleasure. The nervous twist in his gut is gone. His chest is flushed, hot sparks trailing in the wake of the hand he drags down it, palming at his nipples just to feel them peak harder at the shiver of desire that winds lazily through him. 

And still: nothing unusual is apparent. Barefoot, in his jeans, he could go walk around the bunker, or work on his baby in the garage or whatever, and except for the prominent bulge in the front of his jeans, no one would know anything. He slides his fingers over the leather of his belt, feeling how smooth it is, warm from proximity to his body heat. He swallows, letting his eyes half close as he drags his fingers over the skin just above his waistband, feels the beginnings of an ache in his trapped cock as it fully hardens in his jeans. He opens his eyes again, and watches his fingers as he slowly unbuckles his belt. The leather whispers against the fabric of his jeans as he draws it out of his belt loops; the buckle clanks as he drops it to the floor on top of his shirts. 

He turns so that his back is to the mirror, and looks over his shoulder. Without the belt, his jeans are a shade looser, riding just a hint lower on his hips. He over bends slightly, like maybe he'd dropped something and needed to pick it up, eyes fixed on his own reflection. The pressure against his dick is a welcome counterpoint to the low thrill that runs through him as a hint of emerald green peeks above the waistband of his jeans. He stands,sliding a finger along the edge of lace that still shows above where his jeans have shifted. His breathing is quicker, shallow rise and fall of his chest in time with the pounding beat of his heart. Slowly, he turns back around, facing himself in the mirror again. His fingers toy with the button of his jeans before a better idea strikes him. He tugs the back of his jeans back into place, then hooks his thumbs through his front belt loops and pulls down just enough to watch lace peek out at him. He meets his own eyes again, enjoying how the color matches the bright green of his irises. He'd hoped, when he ordered them...but he hadn't anticipated just how much he would love this pair, how pretty they make him feel. 

His eyes drop to his waistband again, and he lets go of his belt loops. He slips his fingers under the waistband of his jeans, sliding them over the delicate texture of the lace until he hits the slippery satin of his panties.He feels his cock twitch against his jeans, definitely aching for touch now. He pulls his hand out of his pants and palms at his cock, pressing to relieve the ache, but it only makes the satin slide agains his skin and he hisses at the hot jolt that sends rocketing to the base of his spine. Still, though, he thinks as he removes his hand and looks at himself again: even now, no one would be able to tell his secret. He smiles to himself: time to finish shattering the illusion. 

He watches his fingers as he slowly draws the button of his jeans through the button hole, as the green of his panties becomes visible again. He swallows as he repeats the process on the first button of his fly, and each after it, a vee opening in the front of his jeans, framing the bulge of his cock, the head of his cock now tickling against lace near his right belt loop. He licks his lips as he slides his hands under his waistband and slowly pushes his jeans down his thighs. They fall the rest of the way, pooling at his feet. In the mirror, he sees himself finally, layers shed until it's just satin and lace, and there's nothing _regular_ left in the way the fabric is encasing his cock and wrapping softly around his hips. 

Dean snaps his eyes shut, his hands balling into fists against his thighs as he is suddenly fighting the fierce fire that threatens to spill over. It wouldn't be the first time that the sight alone has been enough to undo him; sometimes he even lets it happen, maybe enjoys a round two later. But he isn't ready yet today. Long moments pass as he collects himself, controls his breathing, steps out of his jeans and back from the precipice. 

He looks at himself again, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he trails his fingers over the hard outline of his cock, rubs the damp lace back into the head of his cock. That feeling like he's flying is back, stronger, and when he meets his eyes in the mirror again he can barely see any of the matching green left, swallowed by the blackness of his pupils. He strokes his dick through his panties, half fisting the shaft as well as he can as his knees turn to wet sand and he hears his breath coming in ragged gasps. He watches the way the head of his cock tries to poke up past the edge of the lace. It's almost too much and he slows his strokes, almost gentling himself, easing off until it's just his fingers teasing along his length.  

Slowly, he eases the lace edge over the head of his cock, a dark circle spreading on the fabric where he has dampened it, and he lets the soft edge of the lace drag against his cock as he pulls the front of his panties down, watching the fabric slide against himself, and tucks the edge under his balls. Displayed like this, obscenely hard and leaking, framed by the delicate fabric of his panties, he takes a mental picture and files it away for the next time when he's been _regular_ for too long. He slides both hands down over his stomach, lower, one drifting to cup his balls as the other encircles his shaft. Slowly, he strokes himself. It's a battle between the racing of his heart, the insistent pounding of his blood and his need to enjoy this and make it last as long as he can. 

The heat pooling in his gut grows dizzying, and he tries to fight it back, almost closes his eyes again in a bid to draw this out longer. But he _wants_ to see himself like this, so he forces himself to ease off, slowing his strokes and loosening his grip until he's only using a feather-light touch of his fingertips along his length, his other hand rubbing the fabric where it's pulled taut against his skin. He plays this game with himself a few more times, forcing himself back from the knife's edge, denying himself to prolong the pleasure. 

Finally, his knees do give out, his body trembling as he kneels with a quiet whimper in front of the mirror, eyes transfixed by the sight of his hand of his cock and the feel of satin on his skin. A few more strokes, and he gives in to his orgasm, forcing his eyes to stay open as it rips through him, sweet fire coursing down his spine as he spills into his hand. As the aftershocks fade, he feels exhausted, drained and sated. He doesn't feel regular at all, just warm and incredibly at home in his skin. He cleans off his hand with a conveniently placed tissue and gently pulls his panties up over his softening cock. Even now, the sight sends a thrill through him. 

He groans as he gets to his feet and staggers the few feet to his bed, flopping face first onto it before wrapping his arms around his pillow and sliding into a dreamless, blissful sleep. 

 


End file.
